The Flower Garden.

I have lived in this bungalow with brother and Grandma for over Twelve years.

Daffodils, Iris, sun flower, sweet pea, Aster, Rose, Bed flowers and lots. Our bungalow looks perfectly like a flower garden; flowers climbing the building poles, some growing in pots and others in glass bottles.

All round the year fresh flowers and evergreen grasses at the court. Christmas makes the flower garden awesome, they (the flowers) are dressed with Christmas lights and afar at night the lights look like fire insects.

Two storey bungalow; up is the large living room, with a large window that gives a clear view of the stream from which the retired journalist; grandma, get water to wet the flowers and grasses. She’s got lots of time to put the flowers in good shape, to care for the fishes in the pond, to tell us stories of past work experience as a Journalist, to tell us stories of Christmas with Grandpa before he died, to arrange for us a perfect Christmas, what she always promise.

Everyone is expectant of Mom and Dad’s visit. Pictures, Clothes, Books, Candies, lots. They visit two days to Christmas but this wane as I grow and I became indifferent to their visit or return to work. Grandma will always tell us…don’t lick your lips, use lip balm, wear cardigan, the stream is unusually cold.

My room has a single window that face the street directly and every Christmas morning I sit beside it to look at lively, bubbling kids and parents, they remind me of my questions about religion and the society but what makes me think more are the decorations at the entrance of the catholic church down the street; palm fronds, the cross, Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus, the way we bow and keep mute during service. Aside my questions, Christmas is fun, we visit family friends, the mall, and eateries. My new dress, shoes and hat make my spirit high and I am unusually active.

Now, I and brother are in the University. I spend Christmas morning playing video games, an hobby I stole from brother and Christmas is more or less a normal day. Brother who is a medical student has little time for holidays, but this year he planned to get a good break from school and books, we are going to visit the flower garden. Grandma will be on break too from the contract job she got recently.

The flower garden remain awesome, fishes still swim in the pond and Grandma made an arch at the entrance with sweet pea, the large living room has a new set of chairs and she got fresh rose flowers for the table.

On the walls are our Christmas pictures of the tender years holding our Christmas hats, Goggles, Ice cream, and Chicken, with Dad, Mum and Grandma by our side. Everything remind me of childhood, its joy, and blissful moments we spent together

…but the seize of the room, my bed, the window…it seem they shrunk.

On Christmas morning, I looked out through my once large window, parents still take their kids out and kids still hop up with lots of energy in new shoes, clothes and hats, holding balloons that makes every kid high.

But they are not the kids I use to see and maybe they too will grow up with less interest and lots of questions and they will come back home, walk on this street where they once hop up licking candies, lollipops and ice cream, with hands in pockets, smiles on their faces and they will remember childhood, its smell, the joy, those fun, the high spirit the same way I remember them now.

Childhood is fun, especially during Christmas. Share your childhood experience and the fun you had during Christmas.

Always expecting your beautiful comments.

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